Raphael
by KoteSkirata
Summary: I'm terrible at these. Sam, Dean, and Cas embark on a quest to aid an OC with a personal vendetta against a super-powered demon. Lots of angst and romance with smatterings of humor from an insufficiently caffeinated author (send coffee!). Cameos by Bobby, possibly joined by Ellen and Gabriel.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, all. I know it's been ages since I've posted anything. I also know I'm supposed to be working on ****_The Lost Ones, _****and I do apologize for my lack of updates. I'm struggling with serious depression, which has been strangling my muse, and yet I somehow managed to spit out some progress on this story. It's old, for me, and I never intended it to go anywhere. Miracles will never cease, I suppose, because here we are. As of the day I post this, it's still unfinished, but don't panic, I have a massive margin and I'll update regularly until that runs out. After that, no promises.**

**I own nothing but my OC. I tried hard to make this fit canon but there were just too many lovely characters I wanted to play with. AU it is. Don't ask me for a season, it's somewhere after 4 and before (spoilers!) we lose Bobby (end spoilers!). I know the beginning is a tad melodramatic, but bear with me, I can make a lot of progress in a year and a half of learning to improve my writing.**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Waves of dark brown hair hung over shoulders that were wrapped in a hunter-green jacket – a single red-dyed lock curled over a thin, dark face. Long lashes shaded grey eyes that gazed down at folded hands. Dark red lips moved silently, a whispered expression of pain – a cry for help – a prayer.

And it was answered.

The sound of beating wings sent the young woman scrambling to her feet, a silver dagger in one hand and a bone-white stake in the other. She faced a blue-eyed stranger in a trenchcoat, his dark hair windblown.

"Who are you?" she breathed, weapons raised.

Those blue eyes watched her with quiet curiosity, perhaps even concern. "My name is Castiel," he replied.

She circled him warily, staring back at him. "_What _are you?" she demanded.

Castiel raised his head a little and said clearly, "I am an angel of the Lord."

"Bullshit," she replied. "What are you, really?"

Castiel's eyes darkened slightly. "As I said – I am an angel."

She shook her head slightly and sighed. "Fine. You're an angel. How did you find me?"

His gaze was clear and steady, holding no trace of a lie. "You called me. Your soul was in pain."

Her eyebrows shot upward. "Excuse me?" she said incredulously.

"You called me," Castiel repeated patiently. "You asked for some kind of sign that you weren't fighting an impossible battle on your own. You prayed for help – I heard you."

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in surprise. "Uh," she struggled with the words. "I didn't think anyone would – I mean – oh, hell."

Her gaze was suddenly filled with pain as she demanded, "Why now? Why never before, when I really needed you?"

Castiel frowned. "This is the first time you have asked for help, is it not?" he asked.

She shook her head, and seemed to collapse, folding in on herself and sitting down in a rush, with her back to the wall. "No," she whispered. "No, I asked – I begged – for years, after the fire – I thought maybe – but nothing ever – _angels_? I'd given up."

The angel was silent, processing the fragmented statements, and not liking what he heard. He moved closer to the young woman and sat down beside her, still gazing straight ahead. After a moment, Castiel asked gently, "What's your name?"

"Raf," she said distractedly. Her head was shaking very slowly, her eyes fixed on the stake and dagger in her hands. "My name's Raphael."

Castiel turned his head then, sharp blue gaze fiercely interested in the face behind the waves of red and brown curls. "Named for an angel," he murmured.

"Yeah. We all were." Raphael closed her eyes and sighed softly, "But I'm the only one left."

The angel beside her heard the pain in her voice, and hesitantly laid his hand on her shoulder, unsure if she would allow the contact. But Raphael didn't pull back, and he felt the unfamiliar texture of her canvas jacket against his palm. "Raphael," Castiel said softly, "I am sorry that I have never heard your prayers before. I do not know how I could have missed you in the past. Is there anything you would ask of me, since I am here now?"

Raphael's green and grey eyes watched him uncertainly. "I – I need a little time to think," she said. "You have to understand – I'd given up on angels, and now here you are."

"Yes," he replied quietly. "I understand. When you need me, say my name. I will find you."

There was a sound of beating wings, and Raphael was alone. She sighed shakily, and tipped her head back to look at the sky.

"Angels," she whispered. "Angels are real." Raphael began to smile, and suddenly she didn't feel quite so alone.

**Read and review, more on the way.**

**K.S.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I'll give you three chapters tonight, you lucky readers (please let there be readers!). Then I have to get some sleep. **

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Raphael was pacing. She walked laps around the dingy motel room, tapping her fingers against her leg. Her grey eyes flickered towards the guitar case leaning against the wall, and then to the battered backpack sitting on the motel room floor.

Finally she sighed, ran a hand through her mass of dark curls, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Raphael hesitated for a moment, and then said quietly, "Castiel?"

The sound of beating wings filled the room for a moment, and then the angel was standing in front of her.

"Yes, Raphael?" he said calmly.

She half-smiled and shook her head. "Wow," Raphael said softly. "You're still real."

Castiel blinked, but chose not to comment as the young woman continued, "First, call me Raf. No one ever used my full name."

He took a moment to consider that, and then replied, "Very well, Raf. Is there something you need?"

Raphael drew in a breath, clearing her mind, and got down to business. "Yeah. I've been stalking a wendigo nest a couple of miles out of town, but I found out today that there are at least three of the beasties. That's a few too many for me to handle on my own. I'll need some backup."

Castiel sat down beside her on the bed, sensing that it would probably be a long conversation. "Don't you know any other hunters?" he asked.

Raphael frowned. "How did you know I was a hunter? Angel magic?"

He shook his head. "Your stake had Enochian symbols carved into the handle. Only a hunter would have such a weapon."

She grinned. "True enough."

Castiel asked again, "Do you know other hunters?"

Raphael looked down. "I used to. But Josh Freeman got killed by a rogue ghoul two years ago, and last April the Kelsons got hexed by a witch and drove off a bridge into a river. I tracked down the ghoul and witch, killed them both. But I'm the only one left."

Castiel remembered that particular lonely phrase from the first time they'd spoken. He turned brilliant blue eyes on the subdued hunter beside him. "How many of you were there originally?"

"Twenty-six." Raphael tapped her fingers against her knee. Having Castiel's intense gaze on her made her restless. "Twenty-six in the clan, eight in my family. Mom, Dad, and my brothers – Michael, Uriel, Azrael, Israfil, Gabriel, and me. We were all named for angels in my family. The clan was a good thing – we were strong. Nothing could hurt that many of us. But the day I was born, we lost three people on a job, and then hunters just kept on dying. Now I'm the only one."

The words poured out of her like water, almost as if she wasn't conscious of speaking. Castiel sensed a loneliness in Raphael that bordered on bitterness – the young woman had a fierce edge to her that he was beginning to understand as she talked about her past. The razor blades in her manner were what kept other people away, kept her safe.

"How long has it been since you talked to someone?" the angel asked.

Raphael gave him a confused look. "About an hour ago, when I got the room. Why?"

Castiel frowned slightly. "That's not what I meant." He hesitated, searching for the right words, and said carefully, "How long has it been since you had someone to talk to?"

She opened her mouth, and closed it again. She looked down at her hands. Finally, Raphael said very quietly, "A long time. I don't want to talk about it, Castiel."

He bowed his head and said nothing.

After a few moments, Raphael said suddenly, "Do you have a nickname? Castiel is kind of a mouthful."

The angel blinked, and refrained from pointing out that _Castiel _was no more difficult to pronounce than _Raphael. _Eventually, he replied, "I have been called Cas."

"Cas," Raphael said slowly, drawing out the sound. The angel felt a sudden flash of something hot under his skin. He blinked, and drew in a quick breath. Raphael was saying, "I like it. So, do you know any hunters who can help me?"

Castiel shook his head slightly to clear his mind of whatever had just happened, and replied, "I believe so. I will speak with them, and if they agree to help, I will take you to them."

He stood up, and Raphael scrambled to her feet as well. She turned to face him, and Castiel could feel the warmth of her presence, surprisingly close to him. He forgot to breathe for a moment as he looked into her curious green and grey eyes.

"Thank you, Cas," Raphael said seriously. "It means a lot to know that I'm not alone."

On impulse, Castiel replied, "You'll never be alone. If you need me, just call."

Raphael drew in a sharp breath as he vanished with the sound of beating wings, leaving a conspicuous absence in the room.

Raphael was sitting on the edge of the bed playing her guitar when Castiel returned. Her eyes were closed as her fingers danced over the strings, and she didn't notice the gust of wind that announced his arrival.

The angel tilted his head to the side, listening to the music. It was strange to him, unfamiliar and filled with human emotion, raw and unpolished, almost painful, but – Castiel decided that he could learn to like the sound.

Raphael was still oblivious to his presence, humming along to the music with her lips parted, almost moaning a little. She moved her head to shake dark curls out of her face, and Castiel saw a deep, familiar kind of pain written in her features. He realized that he was intruding on something very private, and wondered uncomfortably if he should leave.

Naturally, it was at that precise moment that the hunter stopped playing abruptly and opened her eyes. She yelped as she caught sight of him, lurching upright and dropping a silver dagger out of her sleeve into her waiting hand.

Then she recognized him. "Cas!" Raphael gasped. "Don't _do _that!"

He tilted his head to the side, her multi-colored stare catching the angel somewhere between curiosity and discomfort. "Do what?"

Raphael was shaking head, sliding her dagger back into the sleeve of her green canvas jacket. "Don't just – appear like that." She smiled ruefully and added, "You scared me. How long have you been standing there?"

That question definitely hit the _discomfort _side of the scale. Instead of answering, Castiel said, "My hunters are willing to help you with the wendigos if you will assist them in raiding a vampire coven."

Raphael raised an eyebrow at the angel as she carefully set the guitar in its case. "_Your _hunters, Cas?"

He nodded. "One of them is my charge. I am his protector, when he allows me to be."

She glanced up at him and smiled, fastening the guitar case securely closed. "Of course. You're not just an angel – you're a guardian angel." Raphael straightened up and stretched, drawing Castiel's eyes up and down the length of her slender frame. "Vampires, huh? I can do that. Where are they?"

The angel forced himself to look at the wall behind Raphael, and wondered what it was about the dark-haired hunter that he found so fascinating. "About seventy miles away," Castiel replied. "Do you have transportation?"

She shrugged. "Not really. I usually just hitchhike wherever I want to go."

Castiel considered that for a moment, and then said firmly, "I will take you to them."

Raphael hesitated for a moment, and then said, "All right. Just a second." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and picked up her guitar, turning to face the angel's blue eyes. "How's this going to work, exactly?"

Castiel moved toward her purposefully. "Hold still." Raphael exhaled slowly as he moved closer to her, and touched his hand to her forehead.

She gasped as something like an electric shock ran through her body, followed by the feeling of the ground whirling away from her. Raphael felt the angel pull her closer, and she grabbed onto his arm, suddenly, terrifyingly certain that outside the safety of Castiel's arms was nothing but dizzying, boundless empty space. "Holy –"

Raphael felt solid ground slam up beneath her feet, and then Castiel released her. "- shit," she finished, looking around a very different motel room, which was occupied by two very surprised young men, apparently Castiel's hunters. She guessed from the fast food wrappers scattered across the table that they had just finished eating dinner – and that they were as surprised as she was by Castiel's unconventional methods of transportation.

"I have brought the hunter that we discussed," the angel said unnecessarily.

Raphael suddenly wondered what she had gotten herself into. The taller of the two men made a sort of choking noise, and the other one said, "Yeah, we can see that, Cas. We, uh – weren't expecting you so soon," he added pointedly, and stood up. "I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam."

"Nice to meet you," Raphael said politely. "My name is Raphael. Please call me Raf." She glanced sideways at the trench-coated angel beside her, and asked, "Can I have a word with you, Cas?"

She didn't miss the surprise on the faces of the Winchester brothers when she called the angel by _their _nickname for him. Castiel replied calmly, "Of course," and followed Raphael out into the motel hallway.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. "Well?" Dean asked. "What do you think?"

The younger Winchester shrugged and replied, "She's pretty hot."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, but is that all you noticed?"  
>"No. Raphael is an angel name. She didn't give a family name, but she didn't seem too happy when she heard ours."<p>

Dean grunted. "Yeah, I saw that. And what kind of hunter carries a guitar?"

Sam grinned. "A really good one?"

The older Winchester snorted. "Or a really stupid one," he retorted. "Which one do you think she is?"

Sam shrugged. "We'll find out soon enough."

* * *

><p>Out in the hallway, Raphael was pissed. She dropped her things onto the cheap carpet and slammed her palms into Castiel's chest, backing him into the wall.<p>

"Okay, Cas," she snapped. "Why did you bring me to the _Winchesters_?"

Castiel looked back at her blankly, very aware of her hands pressed into his chest. "I don't understand," he said slowly. "Is there a problem?"

Raphael growled deep in her throat, and Castiel's mouth went dry. "Yeah," she said fiercely, "There's a problem. _They're _Winchesters, and _I'm _a Paris!"

The angel's expression remained blank, and he shook his head slightly. Raphael sighed and back away, dropping her hands and looking down at the floor. When she spoke again her voice was more controlled – barely.

"Cas, the Paris family and the Winchester family have had a hunter blood feud going for most of a century. I can't let them know who I am – that I'm the last surviving Paris."

Castiel frowned, wondering why he felt vaguely disappointed that Raphael had backed away from him. "I didn't know," he said quietly. "I've never heard them mention the name Paris."

She sighed and ran a hand through her mass of dark curls, trying to regain control of her temper. "I'm not surprised. There hasn't been much contact in the last twenty years. But before the –" she stopped, swallowed, and continued, "My family used to keep close tabs on the Winchesters, and I bet that before John Winchester went down, he could have recited the names of everyone in my family without stopping to think. Now, those two – Sam and Dean – might not think about the feud very much, but I'm sure they know about it."

Raphael looked straight into the blue eyes of the angel in front of her and said tiredly, "Just don't tell them who I am, all right?"

Castiel nodded seriously. "I promise," he murmured, and paused, tilting his head to the side as if listening to something. After a moment, Castiel said firmly, "I have to go."

He leaned forward and gently kissed Raphael's forehead. "Call me if you need me, Raf. Good luck."

Castiel vanished before she could swallow her surprised long enough to reply. After a moment, Raphael said quietly, "Damn." She picked up her guitar and let herself back into the motel room, where Sam was throwing away empty takeout bags. Raphael smiled tiredly and said, "Well, boys, it looks like you're stuck with me."

* * *

><p>Sometime after midnight, Raphael lay awake on the couch and listened to Dean snoring. The faint light from the hallway formed a glowing strip under the door, and the substandard air conditioner made an annoying clanking noise every . . . seven and half minutes, she decided.<p>

She propped herself up on one elbow and punched the stiff pillow a few times in a futile attempt to force the rock-hard stuffing into a more comfortable shape. Raphael briefly considered using her backpack for a pillow, but it held more weapons than spare clothes, and she decided not to risk amputating her ear the next time she rolled over.

Raphael closed her eyes and listened to Sam's breathing, the sound steady and rhythmic from one of the beds across the room. Raphael slowly began to relax, thinking maybe she'd get some sleep after all –

_Clunk. Clank. Pop, _said the air conditioner.

She bit her lip and stifled a moan of frustration. Raphael kicked the blanket off her legs and sat up, shaking tangled hair out of her face. She glanced around the dark room, pausing to study the sleeping Winchesters, sprawled out in their respective beds, which were probably no more comfortable than her couch.

The sleep-deprived hunter got up and put on her boots, silently picking up a room key and letting herself out into the hallway. It was a short walk to the parking lot.

Raphael leaned against the back wall of the motel and tipped her head back to look at the stars. She sighed, drew in a deep breath of chill night air, and began to speak.

"Hey, Cas. Look, I know you're busy – off doing angel stuff, or whatever – but I can't sleep. And you said you could hear my prayers, so . . . I guess I'm praying. I'm not really sure what to say. I guess I just . . . I don't know. It's nice to know you're out there. Sorry if I'm wasting your time, I'm not very good at this."

Raphael sighed heavily and closed her eyes. "Angels have always been important for me. It was a big theme in my family, obviously, I mean – hell, we were all named for angels. These last couple years have been pretty tough, especially since April. The Paris family – well, we hunt in packs. It's hard to be alone after growing up in a hunter clan with five brothers. I was never alone, ever. So, it's just nice to know angels are out there . . . _you're _out there, doing good someplace. Makes me feel better. A little less alone, I guess."

She smiled a little then, and added, "Things aren't as bad as I thought they were. Thanks for listening. Goodnight, Cas."

The dark-haired hunter made her way back to her lumpy couch, curled up, and went to sleep amidst the oblivious snoring. Outside, the stars sparkled brightly in an endless sky.

**Read and review, my minions!**

_**K.S.**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Last one for tonight, you lucky minions. **

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Raphael was awakened in the morning by a loud thud as Dean tripped over her guitar and slammed his hand against the wall to catch himself. "Damn!"

She sat up and reached for the guitar, which she'd left on the floor next to the couch. "Good morning to you, too," she muttered, examining in the guitar case for damage.

Dean rubbed his bruised hand and demanded, "Why do you carry that thing around, anyway?"

Raphael glared at him. "None of your damn business, boy." Satisfied that the guitar was undamaged, she gently set it on the couch and stood up.

She ignored Dean's gaze as she stretched out muscles that had not appreciated her night on the couch. Raphael noted the sound of running water from the bathroom and the conspicuous lack of Sam's height in the room, and concluded that she wasn't likely to get a shower that morning. She glanced down at her clothes and wrinkled her nose; she needed to find a laundromat, preferably soon.

Dean was searching for something in the pockets of his jacket, but she could feel him watching her in the mirror. She was getting tired of it. Raphael fished a change of clothes out of her backpack and cleared her throat loudly. Dean glanced over at her and she raised her eyebrows. "Do you mind? I need to change."

"Oh. Uh – sure." Dean turned his back and looked down at the floor. Raphael rolled her eyes as she started changing clothes – Dean had obviously been living the bachelor life for quite a while.

The shower stopped running in the bathroom, and Raphael hastily reached for her shirt – but not fast enough. She was standing there in cargo pants and a lace bra when Sam walked out of the bathroom wearing only a towel around his waist.

There was a brief pause as they looked each other up and down – Raphael noted that Sam had some serious abs, and that his wet hair was plastered across his forehead – and then she said calmly, "Morning, Sam," and pulled her shirt on.

"Uh . . . morning," he managed, and moved toward the clothes he'd left on one of the beds. Raphael politely turned her back and began braiding her hair, the one crimson streak contrasting sharply with her dark brown curls. She couldn't keep the smile off her face – the Winchester brothers definitely weren't used to having a girl around.

Raphael waited until she was sure Sam had his jeans on before she turned around, her braid hanging down to her waist. She looked expectantly at the other hunters as Sam pulled on his shirt and Dean finished lacing up his boots. "So," she said pleasantly, "What first, breakfast or bloodsuckers?"

The brothers looked up with nearly identical expressions of surprise on their faces, and Raphael grinned.

"Breakfast," Dean said firmly, and Sam nodded. "Definitely breakfast first."

* * *

><p>After a typical cheap motel breakfast, the three hunters made their way to the parking lot. Raphael had her backpack slung over one shoulder and her guitar in hand. As they approached the Impala, her eyes widened.<p>

"Wow," she breathed. "Is that a '68?"

"1967 Impala," Dean replied proudly, and ran his hand over the gleaming black hood. "You into cars?"

Raphael smiled, but there was a sort of distance in her eyes. "No, but my brother was. I had to sell his Challenger three years ago."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean – Raphael had just given them a lot of information in a few words. Maybe now they could figure out who she was, and why none of their contacts had ever heard of a hunter named Raphael.

Dean climbed into the driver's seat as Raphael slung her bag into the back. She hesitated, looking at the guitar in her hand and then at the limited space in the backseat.

"You want to put that in the trunk?" Sam offered.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "That depends. What else is in your trunk?"

Sam grinned. "Weapons, mostly. Come take a look."

Raphael complied, and grinned at the varied collection of weaponry in the trunk. "You boys sure like guns." She carefully settled her guitar in among the more dangerous items. "It should be okay there. Thanks."

Same looked at her curiously, and asked, "What's so special about that guitar?"

From the front of the car, Dean yelled, "None of your damn business! Can we get moving?"

Raphael cast an amused glance in Dean's direction, appreciating the reference to her earlier answer to a similar question, and said simply, "It was my brother's." She moved around the side of the Impala and slid into the backseat as Sam claimed his place in the shotgun position.

Dean started the car and commented, "Was your brother into everything?"

She smiled a little, turning her head to look out the window as the Impala purred its way down the road. "No, the guitar belonged to Azrael. Israfil was into cars."

Sam glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Named for angels?" he asked, a little too casually.

Raphael bit her lip. She shouldn't have said that, not with the boys digging for information, and her trying so hard to keep secrets. "Yeah," she muttered, and started digging through her backpack, pulling out knives. It effectively ended the conversation.

* * *

><p>Dean said, "We're about half a mile out. Counted ten in a house up this road. You armed, Raf?"<p>

She dropped her stake and dagger out of her sleeves and held them up. "I think I've got it covered."

Sam twisted in his seat to look closer at the carvings on the stake. "What is that?" he asked.

Raphael slid it back into her sleeve. "It'll kill practically anything, and that's all you need to know," she replied crisply.

Dean raised his eyebrows as he pulled the Impala off the road and stopped the engine. "All right, then. Let's go kill some vamps."

Raphael watched Sam and Dean select some guns from the trunk, and politely declined when Sam offered her one.

"You sure?" he asked. "Vamps are pretty nasty up close."

She grinned. "Yeah, I know. But you can keep your misfiring, limited ammunition weapons, and I'll stick to my stake and knives. I like to do my fighting up close . . ." her eyes caught and held Sam's gaze. "And _personal_," she finished.

Sam stared at her for a second, and then swallowed. "Okay. That's fine."

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Would you two like to continue gazing into each other's eyes, or can we get hunting?"

Raphael smiled and Sam just looked embarrassed. "Lead the way," she replied.

They hiked through the woods until they reached the house, and Dean said quietly, "Sam, you go through the back door. Raf, you're with me."

Sam nodded and vanished around the side of the house. Raphael drew her stake and dagger and followed Dean up to the front door. They exchanged a brief glance, and then Dean nodded at her. She turned to the side, then spun around and kicked in the door. Dean charged in and started shooting, with Raphael following close behind.

She was barely two steps inside the house when a hissing vampire charged her. Raphael sidestepped and let the vampire's momentum impale it on the stake; she raked her silver dagger across the vampire's throat and then shoved its corpse away from her.

Raphael could see Dean in her periphery, systematically downing vamps. Another one jumped her from the staircase, and for several minutes filled with several different vamps, she was too busy fighting to worry about the Winchester brothers.

* * *

><p>Dean was having a bad day. His normal rhythm had been interrupted by this crazy hunter chick that his equally crazy angel had unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep – well, <em>inside <em>the doorstep, actually. And now the vamps were leaping out of totally random places to try to kill him from all sides simultaneously. He could hear Sammy in the other room, apparently not having much trouble –

A vamp lunged at him, and Dean spun around to blow it to pieces, but there was Raf, _in the damn way, _and –

How the hell did she do that?

He'd never seen a weapon that killed vamps on contact, but whatever that white stake was, it was dropping the bloodsuckers as soon as it broke skin. That had been the last vamp in the room, and a second later Sam showed up, breathing hard, but at least the blood on his shirt didn't seem to belong to him.

Dean looked over at Raf, who had wild eyes and a weird little half smile on her face, but she'd somehow managed to remain _fricking spotless _– why were her eyes shifting over his shoulder – toward the staircase – _oh shit –_

"_Sam!_"

Raf somehow managed to cross six feet of corpse-filled floor in about three steps, dropping her shoulder and plowing into Sam, knocking the tall hunter flat on his ass, and – Dean lunged forward, forgetting to breathe, because _that was his little brother and he was the one who was supposed to jump in front of Sam _– no, Sam was out of the way, now it was _Raf_ – where the hell had that one last damn vamp come from –

Raf made a small grunting noise as the bloodsucker tackled her, hissing and clawing, sending them crashing to the floor. The vamp dropped its head, going in for the kill –

It jerked once and went limp. Dean, breathing hard through the panic, yanked the dead bloodsucker off Raf, who was flat on her back and looked really fricking pissed, her stake in one hand and her dagger in the other, both stained red.

"Damn," she said, and spat out a mouthful of what looked horribly like vampire blood. "This was my last clean shirt."

Dean snorted, looking at her shredded, gore-spattered grey tank top. Sam picked himself up off the floor and held out his hand to Raf. "You can borrow one of mine," he offered. "Thanks."

She took his hand and let Sam pull her to her feet. "Sure," Raf replied, wiping her bloody stake and dagger on her ruined shirt. "Just pay attention next time, all right? That thing had awful breath."

Dean cut in, "All right, let's get out of here. We all need to get cleaned up, and then we have a road trip to make."

Raf nodded. "Yeah, the wendigos have got to go before they pick off any more hikers. Let's get moving."

**Dun dun duuuun! I'm happy to receive tips on spelling/grammar/lore/canon errors, but I can't promise I'll fix them**** right away. Busy author needs her sleep! **

**Happy Samhain (Halloween) to my minions everywhere!**

**K.S.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello, all. My advice for today is that toothpaste and jellybeans are not a good combination.**

**Enjoy!**

**K.S.**

Raphael decided that she liked wearing Sam's shirt. It was too big, of course, but it was soft and comfortable and it smelled like him. She liked the way it hung loose off her shoulders. Raphael smiled at herself in the mirror and popped the top three buttons open.

After leaving the now-empty vampire house, Raphael had enjoyed a nap in the backseat of the Impala while Dean drove to the last place she'd been hunting – what she'd come to think of as 'the wendigo town. 'After that last vampire had ambushed the hunters, Sam had ended up the least blood-spattered of the three of them, so he pulled on a jacket and got a motel room, and Dean and Raphael snuck up the back stairs to avoid awkward questions.

As promised, Sam had loaned her a clean shirt. Raphael walked out of the bathroom, yawning. She was still tired from her night on the couch, not to mention killing vamps – and she hadn't been sleeping much lately, anyway.

Dean was counting the cash in his wallet, and Sam was cleaning the gun he'd used that morning. Dean glanced up and said, "We're going out. Coming?"

Raphael shook her head. "No thanks. I'll crash here, probably sleep some more. Bring back food – I'll eat anything."

Sam raised his eyebrows. "You know he'll take you literally."

She shrugged, kicking off her boots. "I meant it literally. I had brothers. I learned to eat _anything._"

* * *

><p>It was quiet after the Winchester brothers left, and Raphael stretched out on one of the beds, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, she began to speak quietly.<p>

"Hey, Cas. Figured I'd check in. Killed some vamps today. Nothing special, really, except –" she hesitated.

There was a sound like beating wings, and Castiel asked, "Except what?"

Raphael sat up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash. "Cas!"

"Raf," he greeted her, blue eyes frowning slightly as he looked at her. "Are you wearing Sam's shirt?"

"Yeah," she explained hastily, "Mine got shredded by a vamp, so Sam let me borrow one of his."

Castiel continued to frown, but said nothing, recognizing the impossibility of explaining the simple fact that Sam's scent did not belong on Raphael's body. After a moment, he became aware of the fact that she was looking at him with her eyebrows raised, so he asked, "What were you going to tell me about the vampires?"  
>"Oh, yeah. That." Raphael began unbraiding her hair, fingers working swiftly through well-practiced motions. Castiel's eyes followed the release of waves of dark curls that danced over her shoulders and down her spine. "Well, this vamp jumped Sam when he wasn't looking, and –" she broke off, biting her lip.<p>

"And?" Castiel forced himself to look away from the hand she was running through her hair, but he couldn't stop himself from wondering if that streak of crimson in her dark curls was soft to touch.

What was wrong with him?

Raphael said in a frustrated rush, "I saved him. I didn't think about it, I just moved, because for a second he looked just like one of my brothers, and I – I saved a Winchester's life, Cas, and that's causing me a bit of an identity crisis."

_That _got his attention back on her words – _where it should have been the whole time _– and Castiel sat down on the edge of the bed, prepared to listen all night if that was how long Raphael needed to talk. She had her eyes closed and her shoulders set, her head down. He could read body language. Castiel's hunter was very upset.

"I'm a Paris, Cas. The _last _Paris, which makes it pretty much the most important thing in my life that I carry on my family traditions . . . and beliefs. Like _not _saving Winchesters just because I feel like it at the time. But – they're all right, Sam and Dean. Really. They aren't much different from my brothers, except of course the way they hunt."

Raphael sighed heavily and leaned over to rest her head on Castiel's shoulder, her eyes still closed. "I just don't know what to do, Cas," she murmured.

Castiel didn't know what to do, either. For a moment he sat stiff and frozen, unsure how to respond. Hesitantly, he raised a hand and touched Raphael's hair. Her curls were even softer than they looked. Gently, he rested his hand against her back, just between her shoulder blades, and the angel closed his eyes to listen to her breathing.

Eventually Castiel figured out that Raphael had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He gently slid her down onto the bed, settling her head on the pillow. Raphael made a small sound in her sleep and turned her head toward him.

Castiel gently brushed one of her incredibly soft curls out of her face. He leaned down and kissed Raphael's forehead, then stood up and stepped back. He had some serious thinking to do.

The sound of beating wings filled the room for a moment, and the angel vanished.

* * *

><p>Sam was waiting. He'd seen the look on Dean's face when Raf had fought that morning – that combination of surprise and disbelief that Sam usually associated with bad news.<p>

He wasn't sure yet if Raf was good news or bad. She was one hell of a hunter – she knew what she was doing, and how to do it. And she fought like nothing they'd ever seen, in a quick, fierce style that was both efficient and aggressive.

Sam knew it was bothering Dean that such a _good _hunter with such an unfamiliar style could come out of nowhere, with no past and no last name, and no one they knew ever having heard of her.

It felt like a good setup for a trap.

"Well?" Dean said abruptly, and Sam smiled a little. That was what he had been waiting for. "What do you think?"

Sam shrugged. "She's good."

"Yeah, and that's what bothers me," Dean replied tersely.

The younger Winchester looked out the window of the Impala at the streets of yet another small town in the middle of nowhere. Why was everywhere they went the middle of nowhere? "I called Bobby while you were picking up food. He said he might have heard something once about a family that named their kids after angels. He's gonna do some digging and call back."

Dean grunted and muttered," I don't like this, Sammy. It feels like a trap."

"Cas brought her to us. He wouldn't have done it if she was an angel or a demon, or something else."

"Shape shifter? I don't think his holy radar picks them up."

Sam shook his head. "If she's a shape shifter, why is she such a good hunter? It's not exactly something you can learn to do online. And besides, why would a shape shifter bother with pretending to be a hunter?"

Without warning, Dean blew up, smacking the steering wheel with one hand. "I don't know, Sammy, why the hell does a shape shifter do anything? I'm trying to make some sense out of this, and I'm coming up with nothing. Now do you want to help me out here, or just keep poking holes in my theories?"

Sam looked away for a moment, and then said, "We could ask Cas."

There was a pause. Eventually Dean said unevenly, "Cas? Hey, you want to give us a hand with this?"

After ten minutes had passed with no angel appearing in the backseat, Dean said, "Well, screw that idea."

They sat in silence for the rest of the drive.

* * *

><p>Raphael woke up abruptly to the sound of a key in the lock of the motel door. Her first instinct was to grab her stake and dagger, but then she heard Sam's voice and relaxed. She glanced around and frowned, unable to remember how she'd gotten under the blankets. Hadn't she been talking to Cas?<p>

Dean walked into the room and she decided to figure it out later, sitting up and shaking her hair out of her face. Sam came in a second later and tossed her a takeout bag. Raphael thanked him and unwrapped a hamburger.

She was several bites into her food before she realized that Sam was watching her, and Dean was pointedly not watching her. Raphael paused, swallowed, and said, "The hot sauce is a nice touch. Whose idea was it?"

Sam held out a hand toward Dean, who gave him a five dollar bill, admitting, "That was me."

Sam added, "I told you she'd eat it."

Raphael smiled and kept eating.

* * *

><p>Before Raphael even tried to sleep on the couch – again – she slipped out of the room. She was reasonably sure that both the Winchesters were asleep, and she wanted to talk to Cas.<p>

The roof of the motel was flat and metal and only two stories up, but it looked like forever as Raphael gazed out at the streetlights below. It was like looking at the stars upside down, and her eyes grew misty as she remembered other lights from long years ago.

"Hey, Cas. I'm sorry I fell asleep earlier. It's been a _day_, and – well, honestly, I haven't been taking very good care of myself, these last few weeks. I didn't think I had a reason to bother. I haven't been sleeping much at all. Just kill whatever comes my way and hitch a ride to the next town down the road. I don't even know what I'm looking for, really. For a while, I just wanted to know I wasn't the last hunter. I mean, I knew the Winchesters were out there, but . . ."

She tilted her head back to look at the real stars, but the night was cloudy. "But they were the Winchesters. They weren't an option. I was hoping that there might be someone out there from my side of the feud. One of the clan's old contacts, maybe. I couldn't find anyone, though. And it won't surprise me if the boys can't find anyone who knows me – my side's been wiped out completely except for me."

Raphael sat down on the roof, and immediately jumped up again, cursing the chilled metal. "God, that's cold! Anyway, here I am with the Winchesters. I'm not going to talk about how completely weird that is, because I fell asleep last time I tried to get it sorted out. Well, goodnight, Cas. Thanks for listening."

* * *

><p>As she pulled off her boots, Sam rolled over and said quietly, "Where did you go?"<p>

Raphael froze, caught by surprise. With Dean still snoring, she'd assumed Sam was asleep as well. Sloppy. "I was on the roof."

Sam propped himself up on one elbow, his face unreadable in the dark. "Why?"

She sat down on the couch and replied, "I was praying."

There was a pause, and Raphael rolled her eyes. What was it about guys that made them able to remember the name of every team that ever won the Super Bowl since the beginning of time, but unable to remember that occasionally people had feelings, and maybe even a need to express emotion?

Eventually, Sam said, "Oh. All right."

She replied sarcastically, "If the inquisition is over, I believe the couch is calling my name."

Sam shook his head a little, smiled, and said, "Come here."

Raphael hesitantly moved toward the bed, unsure what he wanted. Sam slid over to the far side of the mattress and handed her a pillow. "Don't steal the blankets," he said, and closed his eyes.

She smiled a little, and her gaze softened as she looked at Sam. He kind of reminded her of Azrael, but more – well –

Raphael took firm hold of that thought and snapped it in half. She slid in next to Sam, rolling over to turn her back to him. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and fell asleep almost instantly.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a good thing Raphael woke up first. She slowly drifted into consciousness, vaguely aware of being warm and comfortable. The Winchesters picked better motels than she did.

Wasn't there something she was supposed to remember about the Winchesters?

Oh, yeah – Sam. Raphael opened her eyes, and stopped breathing. She could have sworn they'd been on opposite sides of the bed when she fell asleep, but somehow she'd ended up nested in close against Sam's chest, with his arms wrapped around her. He was, naturally, sound asleep, but even as Raphael wondered how to untangle herself without waking him, Sam made a small noise in his sleep and pulled her closer.

She closed her eyes for a moment and silently swore. How the hell was she going to get out of this one? Yeah, it was warm and comfortable wrapped up in Sam's arms, and yeah, his hair smelled soft and clean, but he was a Winchester. And that was an iron line that Raphael absolutely could not cross – would not cross.

Very, very slowly, she started moving, gently shifting Sam away from her and sliding backwards across the bed. Finally, Raphael managed to inch out of his hold, and she immediately bailed out of the bed and grabbed her backpack, heading for the bathroom to claim the shower. She felt like she needed one. She was closing the bathroom door when the alarm on Dean's watch went off.

* * *

><p>After an uneventful morning and another cheap breakfast, Raphael sat in the back of the Impala, directing Dean through a maze of old logging roads deep in the woods.<p>

"There's at least three of them, maybe four. The lair is an abandoned mine. Not terribly stable, but wendigos don't care much about safety standards."

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Did you say four? Sam and I almost got killed once trying to take out one wendigo."

Raphael shrugged. "A deal's a deal. Besides, I've killed two of these things by myself before. The three of us shouldn't have any problem." Honestly, it had been sheer luck that kept her from getting killed the last time she'd tackled wendigos – but she knew that Dean's pride wouldn't let him back down, especially if a girl thought it wasn't a big deal. And the wendigos had to be killed, one way or another.

Sam asked, "How many people have been killed?" He had his head back against the seat and his eyes closed, maybe thinking, maybe trying to catch some sleep. It was hard to tell with Sam.

The muscles in her jaw tightened as she replied, "Five. I got here just after the fourth one."

Dean grunted, still scowling from the comment about Raphael having killed two wendigos alone. "How did you find them? These woods go on forever."

She twisted her braid around her wrist, looking out the window. "I tracked them."

"You tracked a wendigo?" Sam turned in his seat to look at her, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "How?"

Raphael looked away from him. "Carefully. The trail was faint, but it was there."

There was a moment of silence as Dean and Sam exchanged a significant look, and then Dean pulled off the dirt road and turned off the Impala's engine. Raphael's stomach began to feel heavy as the silence stretched on. Finally, Dean said, "Wendigos don't leave a trail. What are you trying to pull?"

She glared at him. "Follow me."

Raphael got out of the Impala and stalked across the road into the brush on the other side, green-grey gaze scanning the pine needle carpet of the forest floor. She crouched down, gently brushing the leaves and pine needles away from the dirt, and then ran her fingers through the soil. She brought her hand close to her face and inhaled, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

She turned around to face the Winchester brothers, who had followed her, and shoved her hand into Dean's face. "Smell that," Raphael ordered.

Dean breathed in and made a face. "Smells like rotting meat," he muttered, and then paused. Sam leaned over to smell Raphael's hand and coughed.

"That's wendigo scent," he said in surprise. "You can track them by smell?"

She shrugged. "That's the easy way. If I felt like making myself crazy I would try to find them just by where they've left claw marks on the trees or the ground. It's a lot faster to follow the scent trail."

Sam and Dean looked at each other for a moment, and Sam shrugged slightly. Dean muttered something that sounded like it contained a few swear words, and then he headed back to the Impala to pick up hunting gear. Raphael smiled a little, wiped her hand on her jeans, and followed him. Sam walked beside her, and she tried not to think about the way she'd woken up that morning.

"How did you learn to track wendigos?" Sam asked. "One of your brothers teach you?"

Raphael looked at the ground as she walked, and contemplated traps. "No. My dad." Really, it had been her mom – but if she pushed hard enough on the whole my dead dad was a hunter thing, maybe Sam would leave her past alone for a while.

"Was he a hunter?"

"No, he just killed wendigos when he felt like it. Of course he was a hunter."

Sam grinned. "I walked into that one. So you and your dad, and Israfil and Azrael, you guys were a hunter family. Anywhere in particular you called home, or did you just roam around? Dean and I never really stayed put for more than a week or two."

Raphael bit her lip. Sam was entirely too good at making her want to talk to him. How much could she say? She knew what she should say – nothing.

But she liked Sam. He was sweet, and funny, and – no. No, he was not attractive. And she was not thinking that about a Winchester.

"We didn't move around very much," Raphael said, and quickened her steps, reaching the Impala and grabbing her backpack. She dug through the flaps and pulled out a flare gun, which she stuck in her belt.

Dean looked up from digging through the trunk and said, "I thought you didn't like guns."

"I don't," Raphael replied. "And I don't like fire, either, but it's the best way to kill a wendigo."

Sam leaned around Dean's shoulder and held up a bunch of flare guns in a bag, raising his eyebrows at her. "Yeah. We know."

Raphael grinned back at him. "You know what you're doing, don't you? Now follow me, and try not to get killed."

* * *

><p>Raf moved silently through the woods, ghosting between the trees, her eyes flickering from the ground to the sky and back. Sam and Dean walked behind her, watching as she paused periodically to crouch down and run her fingers through the dirt.<p>

"What's she looking for?" Sam asked softly. Dean shook his head.

"The hell if I know. Scent trail, apparently."

"You boys know I can hear you, right?" Raf didn't bother to look back at them as she added, "We're getting close. Two wendigos came through here recently, so if we're lucky those two might be asleep. As for the other one, or two . . ." she did turn then, drawing the flare gun from her belt and dropping her stake out of her sleeve, into her hand. Raf grinned at them and finished, "Let's not miss."

* * *

><p>Dean wondered why monsters always had to lair someplace dark and dangerous and practically impossible to access. Well, the short answer was that they were monsters – and the long answer was that he really just couldn't catch a break, ever.<p>

Which is why he was sneaking through a really dark mine with Raf behind him and Sam behind her. This was Raf's job, and Dean really ought to have let her take the lead – hunter manners – but something about her just didn't feel right to him. She was part of a family of trained hunters that had lived in one place for years at a time, so she should have been easy to find. But none of Bobby's contacts had ever even heard of her. Either Raf was lying, or something really weird was going on. So Dean took charge, because he wasn't sure he could trust Raf, and he didn't want to die – hunter logic.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump, and then Raf's mouth was at his ear, breathing, "Wait." Dean took a second to make sure he wasn't going into cardiac arrest, and then stared forward into the darkness, unsure what he was supposed to be seeing.

And then, suddenly, he was unpleasantly certain of exactly what he was supposed to be seeing. A shambling figure was moving through the murk of the tunnel; too large to be human, too humanoid to be a wild animal.

Wendigo.

Dean very slowly raised his flare gun, taking careful aim. Stealth wasn't an option at this point – the thing had to know they were there, it could smell them. Dean pulled the trigger.

There was a brief moment in which the world seemed to hold its breath as the burning flare flashed through the darkness, spitting red sparks like an Independence Day firework. Dean suddenly wondered if Sammy remembered setting off fireworks, and he glanced back to see his little brother standing just behind Dean's left shoulder.

Then the flare hit, and the wendigo caught fire in an explosion worthy of Hollywood. The creature stood in flames, staring down at itself as it burned.

The wendigo threw its head back and screamed – a human scream. Dean heard Raf draw in a quick breath, and then there was the howl. It filled the tunnel, shaking the ground as more wendigo voices joined in. It was a cry of defiance, a vow of vengeance – a final warning to run, now, while they had the chance.

"Holy shit," Sam breathed, and then the tunnel collapsed behind them.

"Run! Run!" Dean yelled, sprinting through the dust and the dark and the rocks falling. He passed the burning wendigo corpse, hearing two sets of footsteps close behind him. In the next second, Dean was out of the tunnel and into a cavern, dark and vast and jacked up with ancient wooden supports from the days when the mine was operational. Several tunnels led away from the cavern, but most importantly, the roof wasn't falling in.

Sam moved past him as Dean slowed to a walk. His little brother breathed heavily as he set a lit flare on the ground, washing the cavern in dim red light. Raf spun her stake in her hand, staring around them.

"They're coming," she murmured, and her eyes seemed to shine in the red glow from the flare.

"Hell yeah they're coming," Dean muttered, and then he blinked as his vision flickered, almost as if something had just moved past him too fast to be seen.

"Raf?" Sam said. "Raf?"

She was gone.

Before Dean could even begin to swear, a low growl resonated through the chamber. He spun around to see two shadows standing in one of the tunnels on the far side of the cavern.

"Aw, crap," Dean said fervently.


End file.
